


His Master’s Voice

by ks_villain



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Sexual Fantasy, Slash, Sticky Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/pseuds/ks_villain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron's most loyal followers record anything and everything he has said. They have a nice huge collection of Megatron's dialogue and speeches. So while listening to their collection, they masturbate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tarn

**Author's Note:**

> A series of mini-fills written for the tf kink meme. No plot whatsoever, just what it says in the description. However, I did try to explore the differences between Megatron’s admirers and their individual kinks and fantasies. 
> 
> Beta-read by the very kind and patient [accidentalzombi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/accidental_zombie).  
> Original promt can be found here: http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11696094#t11696094

****

TARN

_Fellow Decepticons. Your Leader Megatron is speaking. Today we have won a great victory. Today I speak to all of you who have served the Decepticon cause faithfully during this time of hardship, who have fought bravely and with utmost determination for our common dream. I speak remembering all those who have given their spark so that we can fight on. Be assured that their sacrifices shall never be forgotten._

In the confines of his private quarters aboard the _Peaceful Tyranny_ , Tarn choked out a frustrated moan. He had been going at it for cycles now and it was getting harder and harder to stay completely silent. To punish himself for his weakness, he withdrew completely from the source of pleasure. Suddenly bereft of all friction and warmth, his whole body protested and twitched in desperate need. But he did not allow himself to give in to his frame’s desire to sink back down and provide some relief with his own servo at least. Not yet. 

Megatron’s voice in the recording dropped down to a deeper pitch. It was as if his Lord had the talent to manipulate Tarn’s own spark, for it stuttered behind his heated chest plates. The words were like caresses to him. He took in every word of the old speech with utmost devotion. When Megatron all but purred his approval of his followers’ unwavering loyalty, Tarn’s interface equipment pulsed a few times. It almost made him fall over the edge and he was not even touching himself. This was the power of his master’s voice.

Tarn had to remain motionless for a few moments, lest he disgrace himself. But the charge did not decrease, not even without any direct stimulation. All the while the adored voice of his leader kept talking, promising to reward the faithful and to destroy all that dared stand in his way. Tarn briefly contemplated if one could go mad from the constant crackling burn of charge, but he found that he did not really mind. This was the sweetest agony. It was only comparable to his other addiction, just more visceral. He could not stop himself, he never could, but he could not allow himself to give in either. Because this was Megatron. And Tarn was not worthy.

As Megatron started talking about punishing all traitors, dealing out justice without mercy, Tarn shivered and lowered himself down once more. He forced himself to bear the pleasure as it threatened to overwhelm him. He needed more, just a bit more and he would overload in a white hot surge of pleasure, made all the greater after having denied himself for so long. He was so sensitive that the vibrations almost physically hurt, so desperate that the pleasant friction threatened to drive him insane. Just a bit longer, _just a bit longer_ , he told himself, just until Megatron had finished his speech. 

He was right at the brink of overload, but he fought it, tried to hold it back. His whole body shook with the effort it took him. Then the recording was at its end. A nanosecond before the pleasure in his spark would have erupted, Tarn pulled himself away. Suddenly bereft of all stimulation, his frame protested violently, straining to go over the edge. His interface equipment pulsed hard. Strong legs shook. He could hear himself groan as he finally managed to pull back from overloading. 

Bracing himself with one hand on the floor, Tarn savored the little spasms of his spark. Every single joint in his body ached with sweet agony. The charge burned in his fuel lines, a sensation that was at the same time familiar and yet indescribable. Only very slowly did his body begin to cool down. Tarn smiled to himself. Once again, he had not managed to stay completely silent. 

Well, that could only mean one thing. It seemed another punishment was in order. Tarn waited a few more kliks, cycling hot air through his vents until his core temperature had reached a non-critical level.

Then he set the recording to replay.


	2. Shockwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes even Shockwave gets a bit lonely on Cybertron.

****

SHOCKWAVE 

_I swear that I will not rest until my purpose is accomplished. I will find no peace of mind until every last Autobot has been reduced to a smouldering heap of scrap metal. Under Decepticon rule, Cybertron shall be restored to its former glory. Once more Cybertronians will travel to the stars and roam the galaxies, once more our cities will prosper and…_

Complete and utter darkness surrounded and enveloped him. Megatron’s voice filled the void around him, giving him something to focus on. It always took a few moments until Shockwave had fully adjusted to the experience. The program deactivated his optic and jammed a number of sensor arrays. It tended to leave him disoriented at first, but the discomfort was soon forgotten, replaced by a sudden sharpness of experience, a single-pointedness of mind that he had always found intriguing. 

The console he could feel pressing into his back was the only solid contact in the still spinning room. The first touch against his right leg was gentle, almost tentative. Fingertips teased in a circular motion around his spike cover. A surge of need followed in the wake of their touch, setting the underlying sensor net alight with charge. With Megatron’s voice echoing in the darkness, it was easy to imagine that the servo tracing along the edges of his spike cover was all polished black metal. Shockwave tried to hold on to that fantasy. It made his spark speed up from its centuries-long steady pace. Every touch, every rasped promise, made it easier to believe.

Megatron’s voice was full of subtle meaning, rich with emotion. His pride, his sense of power, his anger, his confidence -- everything that made up who Megatron was reflected in his deep resonating voice. It washed over Shockwave’s high strung senses, almost like another caress. The absence of visual data seemed to magnify its powers, as well as his own perception of touch, making every squeeze, every press of fingers against nerve clusters, more intense. 

Shockwave’s frame was ill-used to dealing with such an excess of sensations. He could not seem to decide whether to relax and enjoy what was being done to him or tense up with the ever growing charge. Shockwave firmly ignored the conflicting responses of his own body, antennae quivering with the strain, and endured the teasing touch for precisely 4,6342 kliks before he allowed his cover to retract. His spike fairly leapt out of its housing, prompting a relieved groan. He had to struggle momentarily to recall how many eons had passed since he had last indulged in this. 

Megatron spoke on and on and Shockwave listened with rapt attention. His spike throbbed with neglect, almost in time with the words of the recording. He took note of how his lord’s tone had turned almost wistful as he recalled the days of Cybertron’s past glory. Shockwave remembered them too. And he remembered Megatron on the day he had given this very speech, remembered it clearly and in vivid detail, as if it had been only a few cycles ago. Shockwave stifled another moan, not wishing to drown out Megatron’s words, but he could feel the lubricant dribbling along his spike’s underside in a torturous trail. It was most distracting. 

Shockwave saw himself forced to speed up his usual routine. Without further delay he allowed the servo to wrap around his stiff length. He managed to stay silent, but his hips jerked in reflex and bumped back into the console with a loud _clang_. His spike was pressurized so hard that the simple touch brought little relief at first, but then the servo started to move, _warm_ and _steady_ and with _just the right amount of pressure._

The program (Shockwave had devised it himself) knew his preferences, of course. It altered his sensorial perception, cut off all receptive data from his own servo, made it feel disconnected from the rest of his frame, as if truly belonged to someone else. His servo could not process the silky texture or the wet slide as he started stroking himself with slow deliberate tugs, from base to tip, spreading the slippery fluid all over the thick spike. But the extrinsic touch sensors on his interfacing equipment were all the more sensitive for it. Shockwave heard himself vocalizing again, no longer able to exert complete control over his own voice box. His legs buckled and he was forced to lean all of his weight against the console at his back. 

In the darkness there was nothing but Megatron’s voice, flooding Shockwave’s senses, and his – no _Megatron’s_ – servo stroking his spike, driving him towards sweet oblivion. When the recording changed pace and became more violent and angry, so changed the strokes. It did not require conscious effort. _Megatron_ squeezed his spike hard and all Shockwave could feel was his approaching overload, with predictable precision. Approximately 14 more strokes, he estimated. Megatron’s velvet voice slowed down, whispering a few words in praise. The servo on his spike slowed down in turn, changed its rhythm, and Shockwave’s hips started thrusting against his will, making little involuntary jerks against the feather light touches. He never lasted long after that. It was always the whispered words that undid him. 

“M-my liege…” Shockwave never recalled the words he uttered at the height of passion, when his processor whitened out with pleasure and his engorged spark flickered in his chest for a brief moment before going back to its steady beating. The recording came to an end. Shockwave’s systems came back online slowly, one by one, to the sight of the empty laboratory. He looked down on his (purple) servo, stained by his own fluids. He briefly wondered why the sight evoked such a strong emotional reaction in him, but soon his processor was already busy with his next project and he forgot all about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had lonely Shockwave from the G1 universe in mind when I wrote this, but it could be any of his more loyal incarnations. 
> 
> Unlike Tarn in the last chapter (whom I see as totally into overload torture/self-denial) Shockwave’s kink is sensory deprivation.


	3. Soundwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naturally, Soundwave has the biggest private collection of Megatron's voice. But with his specialized equipment and his ultra sensitive audio receptors, he has a particularly hard time resisting Megatron’s voice in public, when he is lurking in the shadows by his leader’s side all day.

****

SOUNDWAVE

As soon as the automatic doors to his quarters closed behind him, Soundwave vented a huff of hot air in relief. He secured the lock with his personal code, the one not even his cassettes would be able to hack. Then he cancelled the override he had placed on his cooling fans, finally allowing them to spring to life. Overheating had been slowly getting worse over his last shift. Time had seemed to crawl by. In the end it had become almost unbearable, even for someone as stoic as Soundwave.

For a while he just stood there and enjoyed the welcome sensation of cool air against his heated components. Now that he was finally alone, Soundwave’s processor needed a few moments to relax its tight control over his own systems. During his shift he had been forced to dampen his finely tuned senses, especially his audio receivers and telepathic abilities. Otherwise, any attempt at concentrating on his work would have been futile. 

In his current state, it was impossible to resist the powers of Megatron’s voice. It drove him to distraction, caressing his sensitive audials like that, resonating through his entire frame. Just remembering earlier brought back a new wave of heat and arousal. He needed more of it. Quickly, Soundwave shifted through the sound files of his vast collection, selecting a particular recording:

_My fellow Decepticons. Today we have won a great victory. Our final triumph is getting closer with every planetary rotation. It is only a matter of time until we descend upon our enemies…_

Megatron’s commanding voice rang loudly in the silence of Soundwave’s quarters. It conveyed absolute authority, even without the presence of the mech himself. It affected Soundwave like no other sound ever had. It made him want to drop to his knees instinctively, made him want to voice his appreciation with a moan, but he had long ago conditioned himself to ignore such impulses. Even now, in the privacy of his own rooms, it took less effort to remain motionless than to allow himself to react to the words Megatron spoke. 

Almost everything Megatron had ever said, from his speeches, to the words exchanged just between the two of them -- Soundwave had compiled them all into a huge private archive. It also contained other, more private recordings of Megatron’s voice, which he had not witnessed in person. Yes, Soundwave took great pleasure in knowing every one of his master’s secrets, but he would never think of using them against Megatron. His loyalty was unquestionable, unconditional and all-consuming. 

_…The time has finally come for us to recognize these truths and take action. The future I have envisioned will be made reality. But I need you, my fellow warriors, to make it so…_

Turning his audio sensors up to full power, Soundwave allowed Megatron’s words to caress his senses. They flooded his sensor net with pleasurable impressions. He let them pass through his entire frame, much as he sometimes did with music. With every passing moment, he found it easier to relax his self-control and allow his body to actually respond to the stimulus. It felt so good to be finally able to let go with no holding back and no need to appear completely unaffected.

Soundwave moaned silently, the sound barely audible. His valve had already been lubricated for a while, but now it started clenching too, as Megatron’s speech gained passion with each passing word. The sound of his leader’s demands, the contrast between harsh tones and smooth sounds, was more than enough to increase Soundwave’s charge quickly. Even without any physical touch, his need was growing steadily. He could overload like this (he had, on more than one occasion), but that was not what he wanted right now. 

An intense heat was beginning to pool in his chest and lower, between his legs. Soundwave ran his servos over his thighs. He could feel them quivering in anticipation beneath his own touch.

_…The time will come for each and every one of you, when your loyalty and dedication are going to be rewarded…_

The words tore through his processor, stirred something within his spark. Soundwave did not make it to the berth; he just sank to his knees where he was and retracted his valve cover, immediately pressing two fingers inside. The wave of sudden relief was so sharp it managed to eclipse even Megatron’s words for a moment. His digits slid in easily all the way, lubricants making the tight walls slick enough. 

Soundwave keened a low musical sound that mixed with the vibrations from Megatron’s voice and travelled up his spinal column. He threw back his head, legs trembling, as a third finger pushed against the outer nodes of his valve. Without further teasing, it joined the other two, stretching his valve wide. The motion triggered an explosive overload that caused his valve to clench down hard around his unmoving digits. Soundwave’s vision dissolved into static. He was acutely aware of the excessive lubricant trickling out of his port and running down his servo, but he could not spare the processor power to be embarrassed about it. 

_…Soon all of Cybertron will fall under Decepticon rule and my will shall be the only guidance you will require…_

Soundwave did not wait until the tremors had subsided before he started pumping his fingers in and out. Megatron’s voice goaded him on, purred promises and rewards for services rendered. The charge in his system was still growing. With every twist and push of his fingers, warm fluids trickled out of his valve, making a sizeable mess on the floor and smearing his pristine white thighs. Normally, he would have considered such a sight extremely off-putting, but now it only served to fuel his desire. 

Every time Megatron’s voice reached a particular pitch, deep and incredibly rich, Soundwave’s spark responded with a flicker. His free servo trailed along the edges of his play button until he felt another overload approaching, right on the heels of the first. The surge of sonic energy hit him quicker than he would have thought possible. Soundwave gasped, the intensity of sensations catching him off guard. Visor blazing with excess energy, he doubled over with the force of pure sensory pleasure. His legs shook as his valve constricted against his digits, prolonging the overload until it was almost too much to bear.

_I am the Decepticon cause… Serving the Decepticon cause is serving Megatron._

His arousal, however, was still not abating. Soundwave felt helpless in the wake of his own lust, and that should not have felt good either, but it did. He shuddered at the realization, wondering for a split second what the other Decepticons would think of him if they could see him like this, his whole frame trembling with charge, hips rocking down against his own fingers, desperate for more. But, truth be told, in his current state he probably would not have cared if anyone saw.

Only Megatron would be able to make him stop at this point, because he was his to command. Soundwave knew that his body would always obey his leader’s commands, no matter how far gone he was. He moaned soundlessly at the fantasy of obeying Megatron, shifting his legs, trying to spread them further apart. He could feel the edge again, coming closer and closer, just barely out of reach. Soundwave only had to curl his fingers, hitting a new and particularly sensitive sensor cluster, and his frame shook in the grip of yet another sensory overload. 

_…Serve me faithfully and you shall reap the rewards of your loyal service…_

Increasing the power to his audio sensors, Soundwave opened himself up completely to the influence of Megatron’s voice. It resonated through his whole frame, from his head down to his feet and finally into the fingers buried deep into his own valve. The little pulses converted from the sound of his master’s voice vibrated _inside of him_ … and made him lose the last vestiges of control. Later, he would not recall much of what had happened afterwards, except for the sounds. They were engraved perfectly into his memory banks, every word of the speech, every zap of electricity, every obscene noise his fingers made pushing into his dripping valve. And everything was overlaid by the roaring of his cooling fans. 

The rest was a curious mix of raw sensations and indeterminable pleasures. Soundwave was no longer capable of consciously moving his fingers in a complex pattern, but his valve walls were so sensitive that it did not take much to keep them clenching and unclenching. He was only dimly aware of reaching overload several times in quick succession, but it was difficult to say when one stopped and the next began. 

After an indeterminable time and several overloads – he could not say how many even if he wanted to – his processor finally managed to boot up again. The recording had come to an end some time ago. The only sound was the stuttering of his straining vents. Soundwave shook his head to clear his processor, admonishing himself for letting it get that bad in the first place. He could not bring himself to feel sorry for his cassettes, however. They had probably gotten a fair dose of what he had been through just now. And they had been locked out of their shared quarters on top of that. 

All of this had been their fault after all. They had (deliberately and with sadistic glee) kept him from relieving himself for vorns with their mischief, their constant noise and their prank wars. But they had learned their lesson (at least for a while) -- Soundwave was quite sure of that. For now their mental link was blessedly silent and would undoubtedly remain so for a while. 

His battle mask split open in the middle, exposing his faceplates to the cool air. Even in his quarters Soundwave seldom removed his mask. Even rarer was the sight of his lips twisting into a smug half-smile. Soundwave raised his soaked fingers to his mouth and licked some of the sticky fluids off the blue plating, seemingly deep in thought. He guessed that he had a few more cycles before his cassettes would dare to show up again. There was more than enough time to … clean up properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have gotten carried away a bit with this chapter, but I could not resist, Soundwave is my favorite Con. 
> 
> Additional warnings/kinks: multiple overloads, over-sensitivity, fluids, fingering


	4. Starscream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not only the most loyal among Megatron's officers can appreciate his voice.

STARSCREAM 

_For too long we have suffered under Autobot oppression. The time has come for us to strike at the very spark of their pathetic resistance and watch as it crumbles. They cannot stand against us. We will crush them like we have crushed the rest of their pitiful brethren. We will tear them apart and …_

The aggressive pitch of Megatron’s speech triggered something deep within his chest and caused sparks of electricity to travel up and down his spinal cord. Starscream shifted his hips and pressed his back against the cold floor in an attempt to make the feeling last. An imaginary black servo held his wings down. Their sensitive tips scraped over the ground, causing blissful little shocks to race through his taut frame. At the same time, Megatron’s rough voice scraped through his processor, the two sensations eerily similar. 

Starscream rolled his hips upwards. Slick and smooth metal brushed against the rim of his valve and set all the exterior nodes on fire. Another feral growl from the recording and Starscream suddenly found that he could not wait a nanosecond longer. He spread his legs wider, pushed the toy in as far as it would go and heard himself gasp and moan at the overwhelming pressure in his valve (he was definitely not whimpering, thank you very much). 

It was difficult to resist the urge to tense, to muster enough control to keep his valve from contracting over the fake spike. He could hear his own voice rising in volume, but Megatron got louder too, more aggressive. Every rumbling threat elicited a full body shiver; Starscream had no control over it, had stopped fighting it. He only concentrated on pushing deeper, slowly and carefully now, gaining inch by inch. He longed to shove the thing all the way in, just as he imagined Megatron would, but he had more control than his "esteemed leader", of course. 

"Don’t be such a coward," he heard himself complain. "Spike me already, you old fool. Or are you too incompetent even for that simple task?" 

Finally, with a wet sound, something in his valve gave and the toy slid in all the way, spreading his valve walls impossibly wide. Callipers immediately tried to cycle down, but it was futile; the spike was so thick they could barely move. Their fluttering translated into a nice vibration, however. There was no pain, no discomfort, just the pure pleasure of being filled so wonderfully and Starscream luxuriated in the overwhelming sensations. 

He had made the toy himself. Its size and shape were designed to stretch him perfectly, just barely above the capacity of his valve. He wriggled the handle a bit, experimentally, and moaned rather loudly at the resulting waves of pleasure spreading from his valve. This thing was perfect. He was brilliant. 

As his vents stuttered and strained to cool down his frame, Starscream bit his lower lip and kept his optics firmly on the ceiling. If he looked down now, he would go over the edge too soon, before he had even started to enjoy this properly. He tried to relax and concentrate on something else, but the voice in the background made it difficult, kept his charge high. Just imagining what it would look like, the huge black spike, spreading him wide, covered in the sheen of his own fluids...

The mental image alone ratcheted his desire up another notch and made him squirm. And he was not even moving the thing yet. Primus! Around its wider base, it sported several little ridges that would stimulate his sensor nodes just right... 

"Just fragging move already!" he demanded (to a casual observer it might have sounded more like begging, but there was nobody there who could hear him anyway). 

In order to alleviate some of the pressure, Starscream allowed his spike to pressurize. It sprang free of its confines, rising proudly and gleaming with lubricant. Only then did he finally give in to the demands of his body and started to move his new toy, letting out a string of shaky moans as he slowly worked the thing in and out. The only way that this could be even better, he thought regretfully, was if someone would massage his wings, worship them properly. But the spike was heavy and he needed two servos to handle it. 

It did not matter. He would not last much longer anyway. In the old recording, Megatron began to shout, threatening to rip out the sparks of his enemies with his bare servo. Starscream snickered briefly, before going back to making other, more enthusiastic noises. What would the fragger think if he knew what he was doing right now? The thought amused the seeker endlessly. He could almost see the expression of shock on Megatron’s faceplates. But he also knew what would come next, could almost hear the low growl that heralded one of Megatron’s outburst of temper. Oh, he would be absolutely mad with rage. Just like in the recording right now. Hmmmm...

Megatron’s aggressive demands contributed nicely to the overall experience; his voice greatly increased Starscream’s arousal. Every roar and every threat seemed to trigger a flash of current that sent shivers down his legs and up his spike. A pity he had no spare servo to grasp that either, but it didn’t matter. Starscream could feel his overload approaching rapidly. Each time he shoved the spike in, he could feel every sensor node being hit at once, even those at the back of his valve. 

"Harder! Primus fraggit, is that all you’ve got?" He wanted to draw it out, wanted to enjoy this just a bit longer, but then he made the mistake of looking down. "Primus..."

Just the sheer size of the thing pounding his valve could have sent him over. The way it disappeared into him, the way his valve lining spread obscenely over the black metal... the visuals were too much. Starscream overloaded hard, mouth opening in a silent scream, valve clutching desperately at the huge spike. His hips rose off the floor a few inches just to freeze there in mid motion, spike releasing some of the intense pleasure into a silvery arc, before his whole frame went limp as all tension left him. 

Megatron’s voice sounded terribly satisfied as his speech came to an end. Starscream pushed himself up on his elbow joints and smirked. Strange how the sound reflected his own feelings on the matter so perfectly. He flicked his wings, glad to no longer have his weight resting on them. His valve squeezed the toy once more, before he started to pull it out. A sense of pride filled him at every resurfacing inch. 

Starscream was sure that Megatron’s spike would not be half as good (it was probably tiny). His smile widened at that thought. Megatron was a failure as a leader, and he would be a failure in the berth. But, Primus, – he closed his panel with a satisfied purr – what a voice!


	5. Motormaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motormaster has no idea what’s happening to him when Megatron is giving one of his speeches.

****

MOTORMASTER 

Was it just him or was it getting really hot in here? Motormaster shifted his weight uncomfortably, trying to concentrate on Megatron’s speech. He tried to reason with himself. The small conference room was full of big mechs, most of them heavy war-builds. They’d been crowded together in here for what must have been several cycles. Of course it was getting hotter.

But if nobody else was complaining, Motormaster wouldn’t be the one to start. He suppressed a growl that threatened to escape – that would have certainly drawn everybody’s attention – and settled for scowling even more fiercely. It would not do for him to show any weakness in front of everyone, especially not in front of Megatron. 

Instead, he tried to focus better on what their leader was saying. Megatron had released Starscream and was now pacing up and down the center aisle of the room, explaining his latest plan to destroy the Autobots. The ceiling lights reflected off his gunmetal armor plates and dark red eyes glowed menacingly at his underlings as he spoke. Motormaster listened closely to the details of the plan, but somehow he could not seem to concentrate very well today. The words made no sense, even though they burned themselves into his processor. 

Listening to Megatron was always exciting for the Stunticon leader. Megatron had a way of talking that captured the sparks of his followers. He inspired them and made them believe in his vision of a restored Cybertron - a planet Motormaster had never seen with his own optics. But that did not matter, because it came alive in Megatron's words. 

Today the words of his leader were far more mundane, but every one of them still made Motormaster's spark pulse a little faster. And earlier, when Megatron had grabbed Starscream by the neck cabling and _growled_ like that...

A shiver ran across Motormaster’s broad back at the recent memory alone. He could feel the warmth spreading through his sensor net, slowly but steadily. A dull, throbbing sensation was starting to grow in his abdomen, but this at least was a feeling Motormaster knew. He had experienced it before -- when he was beating the scrap out of some Autobot scum, when he charged right at Optimus Prime in battle, when Megatron praised the Stunticons efforts... it was always accompanied by the same burning anticipation he felt now, the same fierce joy. 

But now that he had nothing to distract himself with, now that he had nothing to do but sit still, the mix of otherwise welcome sensations did not feel pleasant at all. And it was getting worse by the second, like an ever growing pressure. Motormaster had no idea how long this could go on, before _something_ would happen.

Meanwhile, Starscream just would not shut up. Megatron interrupted his explanations to growl at his second-in-command again, a last warning. His powerful servos tightened over nothing but air and Motormaster’s insides clenched as his core temperature spiked. Liquid heat pooled between his legs at the low sound, so dangerous and so heavy with raw power... 

Motormaster had to press his lip plates tightly together before his vocalizer replied with an answering growl of his own. What in the pits was wrong with him? Genuinely confused, he masked his agitation by crossing his arms in front of his massive chest. He tried to pull his attention back to what Megatron was saying, but his frame's responses were only increasing with every word Megatron spoke. The gravelly voice pierced right through his core and made his spark give a few confused pulses of exultation. 

Luckily, nobody seemed to have noticed anything unusual about his behaviour so far. Motormaster looked around. Next to him, Skywarp was sprawled over his seat, a not-quite-there-expression on his face. On the far side of the room, Starscream was still sulking. He seemed to have been damaged by Megatron’s not so gentle grip earlier, for he could not seem to sit comfortably.

Most of the other team leaders and officers present were displaying various states of boredom, while still trying very hard to pretend they were listening to their leader’s speech. With Soundwave, of course, you could never tell what he was thinking... but for Motormaster himself it was getting more and more difficult to think of anything besides the growing heat and pressure in his groin. Pressing his legs together did not help at all, he discovered. It only made matters worse. 

Motormaster cursed inwardly. He had to do something, anything. But what could he do without making a fool of himself? Trying to act naturally, he slipped one massive servo under the table. Groping around blindly, he was shocked to feel a wetness, a thin trickle of fluid between his thighs. Great, so he _had_ damaged something in the last battle. Probably ruptured a fuel line or something. Frustration and anger made his field flare outwards briefly, before he could control it. 

Next to him, Skywarp jerked out of his daze. His wing-tips twitched. They still bore the marks of battle -- scratches and paint transfers -- from when he had let himself be caught by the Autobot twins. They all still sported several dents and scorch-marks. Megatron had called the meeting right after their … tactical retreat, but Motormaster had not seen any serious damage on his own frame that would explain him losing energon. 

There was nothing he could do about it now anyway. Nobody would leave this room before Megatron had finished saying what he wanted to say and dismissed them all. Slowly, as if massaging tense plating, Motormaster rubbed the warm plating of his thighs. That did help a little, at first, but then his fingers accidentally brushed against his codpiece and a spike of heat tore through his circuits. He almost moaned aloud at the surge of pleasure, but barely managed to keep silent. 

Pressing his lip-plates together as hard as he could, Motormaster struggled to understand. What kind of damage was that, not hurting but... feeling good? He wanted to look down, but did not dare. Luckily, Megatron was still busy explaining his latest scheme, drawing most of the others’ attention. But Skywarp had begun giving him strange looks from the corners of his optics. 

Motormaster pulled all of his willpower together to keep still, to keep his hips from grinding against his chair. He was mortified to discover that he was still touching himself below the table. Out of its own volition his index finger kept flicking against his codpiece. And it felt good, so slagging good. The metal was not just warm to the touch, it was burning. All the while Megatron continued his little impromptu speech and the rumbled words almost had the same effect as Motormaster's treacherous finger, spiralling him higher and higher until he felt ready to burst. 

He noticed Skywarp was still stealing glances at him and the slagging piece of scrap was... _grinning_. A hot wave of anger flowed through Motormaster, making him even hotter than he already was. How dare the seeker mock him? _HOW DARE HE?!_ He wanted to grab him by the neck as he had seen Megatron doing with Starscream, wanted to throw him face-down on the table and press himself against...

"Motormaster." 

Megatron’s deep voice cut off all further thoughts. 

The Stunticon leader tore his optics off the seeker. Everybody in the room was looking at him. Megatron had him pinned with his crimson stare, optical ridge raised. The seconds ticked by. Was he expecting an answer? Slag it. All he could think off was the way Megatron had said his name... The last thing Motormaster wanted to do was displease Megatron. He had to say something. 

"Of course, Lord Megatron," he tried, proud that his voice did not waver at all. 

It must have been the correct answer, for Megatron nodded, pleased. Then he gestured towards the exit. "Very well, this is all for now. Prepare everything according to plan." 

Motormaster was so dazed he barely noticed how everyone left the conference room in a rush. Dimly, he could hear Starscream’s distinct voice complaining about something, but his processor was still busy replaying the way Megatron had said his name. He felt drained and exhausted, as if he had just fought another battle. He noticed only now that his servos had tightened into fists on the table. And was he trembling? Impossible. He did not... he was not this weak. A faint _click_ could be heard in the now silent room and some of the pressure finally, mercifully, lessened. 

"Motormaster." 

Once more the Stunticon leader spun around. _Skywarp._ The flyer had stayed behind and was now coming towards him, hips swaying and that slag-eating grin back on his face. Motormaster growled, ready to tear the mech to pieces at the slightest provocation. It would feel so good, so satisfying to punch him in the face. But then he noticed the direction of Skywarp's gaze and how the seeker’s smile changed into an almost worshipful expression, optics brightening as he looked down on him. Motormaster froze in his tracks. 

"You know, I could help you with that," Skywarp purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, which one did you like best? Cruel Tarn, lonely Shockwave, desperate Soundwave, size-queening Starscream or poor innocent Motormaster? Let me know. ;)


End file.
